Go from me, summer friends and tarry not
I am no summer friend, but wintry cold...
A silly sheep, beknighted from the fold
A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot
Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot
Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold
Lest you with me will shiver on the wold
Athirst and hungering on a barren spot
For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge
Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the hedge
Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back
My heart goes sighing............
After Swallows flown.......
On some time's summer's returning track
Photographs 2024
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